


come around again

by nightswatch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4573989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras thinks his new upstairs neighbor is a decent guy. Well, at least until it turns out that his new neighbor is also incredibly noisy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come around again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wishboneluck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishboneluck/gifts).



> Written for the giveaway I did on my [writing blog](http://musains.tumblr.com/).
> 
> [feuillysheart](http://feuillysheart.tumblr.com/) asked for a noisy new upstairs neighbor AU.

There were many things that Enjolras loved about his apartment. The perfect size of it, the way his bed fit right next to the window, the view from the living room window, even the little kinks of it – the way the water pressure in the shower changed at random times, the way the floor creaked in the hallway – and most of all he loved his neighbors.

The girl who lived right across the hall, Cosette, was incredibly sweet and polite. And then there was also the old lady upstairs who had brought him a cake the day he’d moved in. She’d once asked to borrow some flour, but other than that Enjolras had never talked to her much. Sometimes he’d hear her watch TV or her muffled voice when she was talking on the phone. Other than that it was blessedly quiet.

Well, it was until the lady upstairs moved out. She brought Enjolras a casserole, said she’d wanted to use up a bunch of ingredients before she left to live with her daughter, who’d just given birth to twins. Then the movers came, carrying couches and chairs and shelves down the stairs. Enjolras came across them now and again when he left for work.

Then it was quiet again and the sign next to the apartment’s doorbell downstairs remained blank for a while. Enjolras stopped paying attention to it after a while; work decided to be especially stressful and he and Courfeyrac often left the office long after most of their colleagues did.

It was on one of those evenings that Enjolras came home completely exhausted and ready to fall into bed and sleep for a solid twelve hours. He knew that he’d have to get up six hours from now, knew that he should make himself some dinner, but decided against it when all he found in his fridge were out-of-date milk and two shriveled tomatoes. He’d have to remember to go grocery shopping soon. Tomorrow, maybe, if he managed to leave work before all the stores in his street closed.

Enjolras stumbled out of his clothes, spared a second to frown at the mess on his bedroom floor and crawled into bed, setting his alarm with bleary eyes.

In the morning he remembered hearing some thumping upstairs right before he’d fallen asleep, he remembered thinking that someone new must have moved in and that they were setting up furniture. He’d been too tired to wonder why they were doing it that late. Just like he’d been too tired to be kept up by it.

When Enjolras walked out the door he found a handwritten sign reading _Grantaire_ next to the doorbell of the upstairs apartment. Enjolras made a mental note to introduce himself sometime. That mental note was quickly lost in the abyss that was Enjolras’ brain when Courfeyrac greeted him with a list of things they had to work on.

Enjolras never made it to the grocery store that day.

It wasn’t until the following weekend that Enjolras felt like he could finally relax a little bit. Courfeyrac and a few more colleagues at the firm went out to celebrate a job well done – Enjolras joined them for an hour or so, but eventually decided that it was time for him to head home and catch up on sleep.

He was quite proud of himself that he remembered to text Combeferre, promising that he’d make it to the Musain tomorrow afternoon. A few days ago he’d suggested they meet for lunch, but Combeferre, wise as he was, had been sure that Enjolras wouldn’t want to crawl out of bed before noon on his first day off in ages.

As it turned out, Combeferre had been completely right about that.

But that was mainly because it took Enjolras ages to fall asleep. Enjolras had taken a nice long shower, had dutifully brushed his teeth and then he’d crawled into bed, expecting that he’d fall asleep right away. Except that the thumping was back. Right, new upstairs neighbor. Maybe that Grantaire person still wasn’t done assembling their furniture. Enjolras wasn’t really able to imagine another reason for that thumping and maybe they worked shifts, maybe they only had time for this in the evenings, but Enjolras would have really, _really_ loved to sleep.

He turned over, duvet pulled up over his head, willing himself to ignore the thumping. Much to Enjolras’ chagrin, he wasn’t quite able to tune out those strange noises and kept tossing and turning for a while – a long while.

Enjolras drifted off to sleep eventually, his eyes flying open at an especially loud thump not too much later. Enjolras groaned. He needed to stay calm; this wasn’t going to go on forever because there was only so much furniture that one person could fit into an apartment like this. So he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his breathing. Combeferre would be so proud.

Well, Combeferre actually gave him a rather confused look when Enjolras slumped into a chair across from him at the Musain the following afternoon.

“You look tired,” Combeferre said bluntly.

“Thanks,” Enjolras grumbled. “I have my new neighbor to thank for that.”

Combeferre frowned. “New neighbor?”

“Upstairs,” Enjolras only said, because Combeferre didn’t need him to utter complete sentences in order to understand him. That’s why Enjolras loved Combeferre so much. “At this point I don’t even know what they were doing. At first I thought they were putting up furniture, but I’m not that sure anymore.” He shrugged. “Anyway, there was a lot of thumping. Loud thumping.”

Combeferre hummed and pushed at his glasses. “Maybe you should ask them to keep it down at night. You know, in a friendly way. Don’t just go up there and complain, just mention that you heard some thumping and that you are concerned.”

“Concerned,” Enjolras echoed.

“Yes, concerned for your sleep schedule, but you don’t need to mention that.”

“Right.” It couldn’t hurt to try that. Anyway, he’d meant to introduce himself days ago, so he might as well go upstairs to meet his new neighbor when he got back home later on.

Enjolras was hoping that it might be another elderly lady, even though he knew it was unlikely. When he saw the welcome mat reading _“You are the one who knocks”_ , he knew that at least Courfeyrac would like whoever lived in that apartment now. Enjolras cast another glance at the doormat, then he raised his hand to knock on the door.

At first Enjolras thought that they might not be home, then someone behind the door yelled, “Just a second, I’ll be right there.”

So Enjolras waited, impatiently shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He studied the hairline crack in the wall next to the door, looked down the hall, where a rusty bike was leaning against a wall, covered in dust and cobwebs, quite possibly forgotten by one of the former tenants ages ago. Enjolras sighed, wondering whether or not he should knock again or just go back to his own apartment.

Eventually, after more than _just a second_ , Enjolras could hear footsteps behind the door, then it was pulled open. “Sorry, I had paint all over my hands and...” The guy who’d opened the door – Grantaire, Enjolras assumed – trailed off, his eyes going wide. “You’re not... who are you?”

“I’m Enjolras. I live downstairs and I heard some thumping, so I thought you might need some help with your furniture,” Enjolras said quickly. It seemed to him that he wasn’t that good at faking concern.

Grantaire stared at him for a long moment, then he suddenly nodded as if he’d just then remembered that he was expected to reply. “Oh, hey. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Grantaire.” He shook Enjolras’ hand and Enjolras got a good look at the dried paint splatters all over his arm. “I’m actually done with all the furniture, I don’t have that much, you know? Just a bunch of shelves and stuff. But thanks for asking, really, that’s so nice. The neighbors here are much nicer than the guys at the last place I lived in, I mean, no one has tried to sell me crack yet, so that’s something.” Grantaire wrinkled his nose, tugged his fingers through his hair, which was also streaked with paint. “Anyway...”

“Right, well...” Enjolras took a step back, eyeing Grantaire, who seemed to have been in the middle of painting something rather colorful. “I’ll leave you to it. See you around.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, biting his lip. “See you.”

Enjolras studied his face for a moment, then he walked back down the stairs. Grantaire had seemed nice enough and since he was done putting up his furniture, Enjolras could expect less thumping from now on.

The following week at work was comparatively mellow and he and Courfeyrac even had time to go out for lunch together twice. Enjolras came across Grantaire only one time when he got home from work. Grantaire was apparently on his way out, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Grantaire mumbled a quiet hello as he squeezed past him, but didn’t otherwise say a word.

Well, Enjolras hadn’t exactly expected to become best friends with his new neighbor, but old Mrs. Mabeuf had always been a little more enthusiastic about meeting him in the hallway. Although Enjolras had to admit that he didn’t exactly miss her telling him about her rheumatism and her daughter’s job at some five star restaurant and her son’s wife who seemed to have issues with someone or something every other week.

Much to Enjolras’ delight there was no more thumping and he even told Courfeyrac that his new neighbor was really quiet and apparently not a complete nuisance. Or that was what he thought until the following Thursday evening.

See, Enjolras knew that people had friends and that people invited said friends over for parties and movie nights and for dinner and the like. Enjolras knew because he did so every now and again – although not dinner because his friends were too scared that he might poison them. On accident, of course.

Anyway, Enjolras understood that it was a little hard to be quiet with a bunch of people in your apartment when you were having a party. Enjolras didn’t expect total silence. Really, he didn’t. He was just spoiled because Mrs. Mabeuf had had visitors so rarely, except for her bridge club that had met every Wednesday evening. Most of the time Enjolras hadn’t even realized that they were there until Mrs. Mabeuf had told him about it the next morning.

Grantaire obviously had friends over tonight – Enjolras could hear them laughing, could hear their music. And that was okay. Except that it got later and later and the music never stopped. And Enjolras had to get up early for work and he should have gone to bed about an hour ago, but he knew that there was no point with the music turned up this loud.

Eventually he could hear people climbing down the stairs noisily, and the voices and the laughter stopped, but the music was still on, as loud as ever. Maybe he should go upstairs and knock, ask Grantaire if he was feeling alright. Show concern, because it was late and the music was still on and Enjolras had just wanted to check if he wasn’t lying dead in his kitchen. Or maybe Enjolras could go up there and explain to Grantaire that he’d rip his freaking head off if he didn’t turn off the music right this second.

Enjolras took a deep breath, picked up his keys and marched up the stairs. This time he didn’t knock. Grantaire certainly wouldn’t hear that over the music. So he rang the doorbell. Twice.

The music stopped and Grantaire appeared in the door just a moment later. For some reason his clothes were covered in paint once again, only this time there was none of it in his hair or on his arms. Grantaire smirked. “Enjolras, what’s up?”

“It’s two o’clock in the morning,” Enjolras said. He was sure he could reason with Grantaire. Everyone must understand that two o’clock in the morning was not the best time to listen to music at full volume.

“Okay, um...” Grantaire blinked at him. “So?”

“So do you mind turning the music down?”

Grantaire tilted his head. “What music?”

“What music,” Enjolras said flatly. “Are you serious? I’m pretty sure that the entire building could tell you _what music_ I’m talking about.”

“Hey, chill. I turned it off.”

“Yes, _now_ you did.”

“And it will stay turned off. I promise.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Enjolras said and stalked back down the stairs without another word. Thankfully Grantaire didn’t turn the music back on, just like he’d promised, but it still took Enjolras four gigantic cups of coffee to make himself feel less like a zombie the next morning.

And maybe it would have been too good to be true if that had been it. Maybe it was naïve of Enjolras to believe that Grantaire would make an effort to keep it down at two in the morning from now on.

It was only a few days later, Sunday evening, when the thumping was back. At this point Enjolras was sure that it had nothing at all to do with furniture. He sighed and tried to keep reading his book. He needed to ignore this. Neighbors made noises. It just happened.

When Grantaire started playing the guitar two hours later, Enjolras was still telling himself that he was overreacting.

“It’s a nightmare,” Enjolras said to Courfeyrac no two weeks later. “He’s always doing something loud.”

Courfeyrac grinned. “A real ladies man, huh?”

“This has nothing to do with,” Enjolras rolled his eyes, “ _the ladies_.”

“Then maybe the gentlemen or maybe–”

“No people,” Enjolras interrupted. “It’s just loud music, and indefinable thumping. Oh, and he plays the guitar.”

“Oh, is he a musician, can you get me his number?”

“You have a boyfriend,” Enjolras said flatly. “And Grantaire actually isn’t even _that_ good at playing the guitar. He’s annoying, though. Incredibly annoying.”

“Have you told him?”

“That he’s annoying?”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “Well, that he should try to keep it down. And that if he’s having rough loud sex, you totally want in.”

“I do not,” Enjolras grumbled. “Anyway, I already went up there once to complain.”

“Maybe you should try it a second time. Or you could just tell your landlord, I bet he’d be able to do something about it.”

“I don’t really want to get him in trouble. I mean, we’re adults, we should be able to handle this.”

So the next time Grantaire was playing guitar at midnight on a Monday evening, Enjolras went up there again. This time Grantaire opened the door in his boxers and a faded _Star Wars_ shirt. Enjolras couldn’t help but think that Combeferre would love that shirt. “Nice pants,” Grantaire said, nodding at the pyjama pants with the cat print that Courfeyrac had bought Enjolras.

Enjolras had completely forgotten that he was wearing those. “Thanks,” he mumbled, trying to stop his face from getting as red as a tomato by sheer force of will. Going by Grantaire’s smirk it wasn’t working very well.

“How can I help you on this fine evening?” Grantaire asked.

“I was wondering...” Enjolras started, not sure how to phrase this in a polite way. “See, I have to get up at six, which is quite early and I was wondering if you could just... not play the guitar at midnight?”

“Dude, you get up at six every day?” Grantaire shook his head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Yes, thanks for sharing your opinion on that,” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire shrugged. “Man, it’s cool, no worries. Sleep well.”

“Okay,” Enjolras said. He’d been right. They were adults, these were things that they could talk about in a reasonable manner. No need to complain to the landlord. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Grantaire said, winking at him before he vanished back into his apartment.

Enjolras stared at Grantaire’s closed door for a moment, then he quickly went back to his own place and buried himself under his duvet, hoping he’d fall asleep before Grantaire could come up with some other weird way of keeping him up at night.

Well, during the next couple of days Enjolras had absolutely no reason to complain about anything. Work wasn’t too stressful for the rest of the week, there was no more guitar playing in the middle of the night, there was no loud music – until Friday night. And that day Grantaire seemed to like his music particularly loud.

It was barely eight o’clock and Enjolras wasn’t quite sure if he’d be able to stand this for the rest of the evening. He had no idea how the guy who lived across the hall from Grantaire dealt with all the noise. Maybe he was never home.

Enjolras was loath to walk up those steps again, but when the music hadn’t stopped an hour later and Enjolras had a pounding headache, he decided that enough was enough. Grantaire was quick to open the door, almost like he’d been expecting someone, but Enjolras was sure that it hadn’t been him.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, smiling broadly. He was holding a carrot. “Did you come up to join us?”

Enjolras sighed. “I’m not trying to ruin your fun or anything, but I can’t even hear myself think down there. Would you mind turning your music down just a tiny little bit?”

A bald guy appeared behind Grantaire, peering over his shoulder. “The music is too loud, isn’t it?”

“Told you,” someone yelled from the kitchen and the music was turned down to a much more agreeable volume.

“We’re leaving in... when are Bahorel and Feuilly picking us up?” Grantaire looked over his shoulder at the bald guy, who shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess we’ll be gone in half an hour.”

“It’s fine, I just don’t really like it when the walls vibrate because your music is so loud.” Enjolras did his best to fake a smile. “Have a good evening.”

“You too,” Grantaire said and tipped an invisible hat with his carrot before he kicked the door shut.

Enjolras rolled his eyes at the closed door. It was slowly but surely starting to dawn on him that his visits to Grantaire’s weren’t going to become any less frequent. Even though Grantaire never put up a fight and stopped doing whatever annoying thing he was doing, he only did for the evening. It didn’t mean that he wouldn’t go back to doing the exact same thing only a few days later.

On Tuesday night, Grantaire actually came up with something new. Or something that hadn’t previously been on Enjolras’ list of Grantaire’s exasperating noisy habits. Courfeyrac had basically foretold this weeks ago – Grantaire seemed to have a visitor. And Grantaire and his visitor were currently having incredibly loud sex. Well, he surely couldn’t go up there now, so he kept telling himself that it couldn’t take that long anyway. Except that it did.

Enjolras pulled a pillow over his head and started thinking about whether or not it was worth trying to find a new apartment.

When he returned from work the next day, Enjolras found a bag hanging on his doorknob He peered inside and found a little box with earplugs and a note from Grantaire. _Sorry about last night_ , it read. _I guess I should thank you for not coming upstairs._

So Grantaire knew that Enjolras was annoyed by the noise, he knew exactly how loud was _too_ loud. Enjolras huffed and stomped up the stairs, knocking on Grantaire’s door continuously. He needed to be insistent this time.

As it turned out, Enjolras regretted being insistent only ten seconds later when Grantaire opened the door. Because he was dripping wet. And he was only covering himself with a teeny tiny towel. He hadn’t even wrapped it around his waist, he was just holding it up and Enjolras had already seen way too much, and why wasn’t he looking at Grantaire’s face anyway? Enjolras only cleared his throat, his eyes now wandering up Grantaire’s chest, where little drops of water were chasing each other downwards. Enjolras had to force his eyes not to follow them.

“What now?” Grantaire asked. “Did I shower too loud?”

Enjolras shook his head, now finally managing to look at Grantaire’s face. His hair was dripping all over the place. “What is this?” Enjolras asked and held up the bag.

“Well, I thought you might have been pissed about,” Grantaire smiled sheepishly, “the noise. I just thought you could use those in the future, ‘s all.”

“Oh, did you think that? How about you just keep your music and... everything else to a normal level instead of forcing the entire building to participate in whatever you’re doing.”

Grantaire grinned. “Hey, I definitely would have noticed if you’d _participated_ last night.”

“Hilarious,” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire leaned against the doorframe, the towel shifting dangerously. Enjolras once again had to force his eyes not to linger, but Grantaire had quite obviously noticed where Enjolras had been looking. He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“Well, if you don’t want the earplugs...” Grantaire shrugged and held out his hand.

Enjolras didn’t hand them over, though. “I’m keeping them, thank you ever so much for this thoughtful gift,” Enjolras hissed and left without looking back at Grantaire and his skimpy towel.

“You’re welcome,” Grantaire called after him.

Enjolras actually did use the earplugs, but they weren’t exactly helpful when he was trying to watch a movie and Grantaire’s music was louder than his TV. Well, maybe it wasn’t actually that bad, but it was still bad enough. Courfeyrac suggested Enjolras should just watch silent movies from now on; Combeferre sent him instructions for how to turn on the subtitles on a DVD.

Enjolras wanted to watch _this_ movie, though, and he wanted to watch it _without_ subtitles, so all he could do was to go up to Grantaire’s again. The music stopped when Enjolras rang the doorbell half a dozen times in a row.

“Aw, come on,” Grantaire said when he found Enjolras outside his door. “It’s not that loud, is it?”

“It actually is,” Enjolras said gruffly.

“Have the earplugs failed you?”

“You know what, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life running around with those earplugs and I–” Enjolras was interrupted by a door slamming shut downstairs. His own door, probably. For some reason he hadn’t grabbed his keys when he’d come running upstairs today. “Oh, for god’s sake.”

“Your door?” Grantaire guessed.

Enjolras only nodded. “I don’t have my key.”

“Does anyone have a spare?”

“My friend Combeferre does, I suppose he could bring it over, but–”

“Do you know his number?” Grantaire interrupted, already tugging Enjolras into his flat. He led him into the kitchen where a tray with chocolate muffins was sitting on the stove. It seemed that Grantaire had pulled them out of the oven not too long ago. Grantaire picked up his phone from the counter and handed it to Enjolras. “Go on, call him.”

Enjolras did, but Combeferre was still at work. He promised that he’d send Courfeyrac over with the key. “Thank you,” Enjolras said to Grantaire and put the phone down on the kitchen table. “Have a good evening.”

“Your friend is coming over?” Grantaire asked. “Does he live right around the corner or something?”

“It won’t take him too long to get here.” Enjolras frowned. “Why are you asking?”

“Well, I’m just wondering... where are you going until he gets here?

“I’m going to wait for him downstairs,” Enjolras said matter-of-factly. Where else would he go?

Grantaire hummed, looking like he wanted to say something else. He seemed to have decided against it and turned around to pull a muffin out of the tray. “Here, just in case it takes a little longer than expected.” He smiled when Enjolras didn’t immediately take the muffin. He had a nice smile, but that was beside the point. “Don’t worry, they’re not poisoned.”

Enjolras took it, still reluctant. “Thank you.”

“You know,” Grantaire said quickly, nodding at his kitchen table, “you could always take a seat and wait here.”

Enjolras very much wanted to ask Grantaire why he was being so nice to him. Grantaire certainly had no reason to, since Enjolras only ever complained about his, well, noisy lifestyle. But it was chilly out in the hallway and Enjolras didn’t really feel like sitting in front of his door for half an hour, so he might as well stay here for a little while. Twenty minutes tops. “Alright,” Enjolras muttered and sat down.

Grantaire hovered over by the stove. “Do you want coffee or anything?”

Enjolras shook his head. He was just going to sit here and wait. He didn’t want to be friends with Grantaire, because Grantaire was obnoxious and inconsiderate. Even though he was actually being really nice right now.

They were both silent for a long moment, but Grantaire started talking eventually. About baking and the rude as hell cashier at the grocery store down the street – Enjolras actually knew the one he was talking about – and the bus that always seemed to be late when Grantaire was in a hurry. He was just rambling along and Enjolras found himself nodding and smiling, and he also complimented Grantaire on his muffins. In the end he almost forgot that he needed to go downstairs to meet Courfeyrac.

He’d barely left Grantaire’s apartment, his thoughts still on his surprisingly pleasant encounter with Grantaire, when Courfeyrac already came walking up the stairs.

“I seriously can’t believe this,” Courfeyrac said to him and shooed him out of the way so he could unlock the door. “But now that I’m already here we might as well hang out, what do you think?”

“Sure,” Enjolras said and followed Courfeyrac into the apartment. “Thanks for bringing over the key.”

“No problem.” Courfeyrac grinned. “So, how did this happen?”

“I went upstairs and forgot to bring my keys.”

Courfeyrac laughed. “Oh boy, was your new best friend being annoying again?”

“I don’t know why he always needs to have his music turned up so loud. I mean, sometimes I don’t even know what he’s doing up there, you know, with all that thumping,” Enjolras said to Courfeyrac as they both flopped down on his sofa. “But whatever it is, it keeps me up at night.”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “Maybe he has a jump rope or something?”

“Could be, but does he have to use it at one in the morning when everyone else is trying to sleep? I mean, who does that to their neighbors? He knows that I can hear whatever he’s doing, what kind of person is that selfish?”

“Okay, but why haven’t you told your landlord?” Courfeyrac asked. “Just file a noise complaint. To be honest, as much as you’re complaining about this guy, you probably should have filed about a dozen by now.”

Quite frankly, Enjolras had never thought about why he hadn’t. He just didn’t want Grantaire to get evicted. “He’s not a bad guy, I suppose,” Enjolras said lowly. “He’s just obnoxious. And terribly inconsiderate, but–”

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac interrupted and took his hand, “is that guy hot? Is that it?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” Enjolras grumbled, his mind involuntarily wandering back to the day when he’d encountered Grantaire in nothing except for that tiny towel. “He’s just... moderately good-looking.”

“I see,” Courfeyrac said, nodding knowingly.

“That’s not why I’m not filing a complaint, though.”

“Okay, but...” Courfeyrac leaned back, tilting his head, the way he always did when he was thinking really hard. “He knows.”

“He knows what?”

“Yeah, he knows that you’ll come around again when his music is too loud.” Courfeyrac laughed. “Or when he’s making those mysterious thumping sounds.”

Enjolras frowned. “So?”

“Have you considered that he’s... you know, doing it on purpose?”

“You think he just lives to piss me off?” Enjolras asked. Quite frankly, he wouldn’t be all that surprised if it were true.

“Not quite,” Courfeyrac said. “I don’t know, maybe you should just ask him. Have a real conversation with him about why he keeps doing it instead of just going up there to complain all the time.” Courfeyrac gave him a nudge with his toe. “And maybe you should mention that you think he’s hot.”

“I don’t...” Enjolras trailed off because he’d already lost and they both knew it.

Enjolras didn’t go up to Grantaire’s apartment that day, or the next, or the day after that. At this point he was convinced that Grantaire couldn’t be reasoned with on this and that he’d spend the rest of his life telling him to please turn the music down a little at least once a week.

Then one weekend the thumping was back and Enjolras listened for a while, trying to figure out if there was some sort of rhythm, and why some thumps were louder than others, but he had no idea what was going on. Usually the thumping stopped after a while, but today it was especially persistent, so Enjolras slowly made his way up the stairs and this time he made sure that he had his keys with him.

Enjolras didn’t even waste time on a greeting when Grantaire opened the door for him. “You know what, at this point I’m just curious. What’s with the thumping? Because you’re definitely not putting up furniture.”

Grantaire snorted. “You wanna come in?”

“What?” Enjolras asked. “Are you murdering people? Am I next?”

“Oh look, he has a sense of humor,” Grantaire said and ushered Enjolras into his apartment. “Okay, look, I know this isn’t ideal or anything, but...” Grantaire nodded at his living room that was empty except for a wall of shelves, a couch and a TV. “I have to practice somewhere.”

“Practice what?”

“Dancing,” Grantaire said matter-of-factly. “I’m a dance instructor. And I don’t own the place I work at, so I have to leave at some point. So I practice here. I’m trying to find alternatives, believe me.”

“I didn’t know that,” Enjolras muttered. Well, at least that made sense now. But only that. “I assume you have the music on while you practice.”

“I do, yeah.”

“How come you know how to keep the volume on a normal level when you’re practicing but not at two in the morning when I’m trying to sleep?” Enjolras asked. “You must have noticed that I just keep coming up here.”

Grantaire smirked. “Well, maybe I like it when you come up here all huffy and puffy. It’s adorable.” He shrugged. “And you have some really nice pyjama pants.”

“My pyjama pants are none of your business,” Enjolras grumbled, only very slowly realizing that Grantaire had basically just admitted that he kept being annoying just because he wanted Enjolras to come upstairs.

Grantaire looked at him for a long moment, hands buried in his pockets. “Look,” he eventually said, “I’ll stop with the loud music if that makes you happy.”

“That would make me really, really happy.” Only Enjolras was pretty sure that it wouldn’t be that easy. “What’s the catch?”

“Well, I like seeing you,” Grantaire said, looking vaguely embarrassed now. “So if I do my best to keep it down, you won’t come up here anymore. So maybe we should... I don’t know, hang out or something. I know a really nice café not too far from here. They have an unbelievably amazing chocolate cake.”

“At the Musain?”

“So you know it,” Grantaire said. “We could go tomorrow. I’ll invite you.”

“To thank me for not filing a billion noise complaints?”

“No, because I usually insist on paying for the first date,” Grantaire said. The sheepish smile had vanished completely; he was really asking now. Well, he wasn’t literally asking, but the implication of what he’d said was quite clear.

Enjolras needed to say yes or no to that and if it had been anyone else he might have thought about it for much longer, but he knew that there was a reason why he hadn’t filed a single noise complaint. He liked Grantaire, even though he was obnoxious, even though he’d spent the past few weeks riling him up. Somehow he did want to get along with him; he wanted to spend more time with him. “Well, if you insist,” Enjolras said. “How about you pick me up so I don’t have to come up here for once?”

Grantaire grinned. “Sounds good to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's art for this fic now (which is super exciting if you ask me). Have a look [here](http://ldimples.tumblr.com/post/131058972690/grantaire-is-a-noisy-neighbor-and-enjolras-is-an)!


End file.
